


Cupid Got Me In a Chokehold

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not as if he needs the extra friends. Not really. Definitely not curly haired, pretty eyed, <i>nice</i> lads anyhow. Nope. Not at all. (except he does).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupid Got Me In a Chokehold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrsyt31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsyt31/gifts).



> This is really all **Erin's** fault. I said I wanted to write Maiden - and this happend. Big love to **coolbreeeze** and **shrdmdnssftw** and of COURSE **mrsyt31** for looking this over and forcing the fluff out of me. never. again.

**Cupid Got Me In a Chokehold**

 

It’s not as if he needs the extra friends.

He _has_ friends. Really. Quite a few lovely ones and some that are sort of more on the periphery than anything else. So when Louis brings around this gorgeous curly haired lad with dimples and a wide, easy smile with green eyes so clear its a near shame they’re framed by dark lashes that sort of hide them when he blinks – well, Liam tries to come up with reasons why he should completely and utterly avoid any sort of conversation that might lead to similar interests being revealed, or the fact that this boy really is _nice_. Which, if Liam were to face facts, he wouldn’t be a mate of Louis’ if he weren’t.

He manages to give a polite nod and a quiet, “Hiya,” with a small smile when Louis introduces Harry around the group (of _course_ his name is as something as normal as _Harry_ ). He even manages to get through an unexpected run in outside the loo with a “Sorry, mate,” pausing only long enough to hear the answered, “’s’alright,” in return before he escaped down the hall. He even gets out of touching the other boy when it’s time to go home because his arm’s under Niall who is near enough passed out on his shoulder as they amble out the front door, only having to call out “We’re fine, I promise,” when Harry offers to drive them to wherever.

As if Liam was going to let “pretty boy” as he started calling him in his head from about three vodka’s in, know where he lived.

So Liam survives the party unscathed by beautiful people with pretty hair and sexy bedroom eyes and apparently a voice so deep that he has to slow down his entire speech pattern to let words slip and slide through what is probably some sort of honey coated gravel to get out.

Wednesday rolls around and Liam is running late to what amongst his friends they’ve coined, “The Family Dinner” which is usually held at this dirty little caf that next to no one apart from them (or so it feels like) eats at. It also helps that Niall works there and is on good terms with the manager so the large table they need for their group is always set and ready every week.

Liam’s unwinding his scarf and blurting out a quick “Sorry! Sorry! Meeting ran late and then I couldn’t find a bloody parking spot because some dick in a Range Rover has took up near two spots,” he says, finally pulling his coat off and hanging it on the rack where everyone else’s is. He turns around shaking out his hair (it _needed_ to be cut if he didn’t want to be flicking around with it constantly), “I mean who the hell drives a posh car like that around here and can’t at least park the ruddy thing right?”

And there’s silence, which Liam only notices because he’s finally looking at the large table that they take up and everyone is sort of staring. All except one whose hand is slowly being raised and there’s this sort of meek, “Sorry,” and Liam wants to just turn around and walk right back out the door.

Harry.

Liam must raise his eyebrows or have some sort of look that questions Harry’s apology because the poor bloke goes on, “the Rover, it’s mine. Well – my dad’s really I’m paying it off,”

Liam sort of stands there and he can’t really find words because he’s pretty much offended Harry and his choice in vehicles and well – that’s not really like Liam. He’s nice to everyone but there’s just. . . something about Harry that Liam doesn’t want to like.

At least that’s what he tells himself.

“Well, that’s. Nice?” Liam says and Christ he just wants to crawl into a hole or go back out into the rain that was just starting when he came in and _leave_. But no. These are _his_ friends and if somehow Louis has decided to adopt this curly haired man child, then he can be just that, Louis’. Liam doesn’t need any more friends. Not a one.

“Hurry up and sit Li, we’ve been waiting hours for you to order and I’m starving!” Niall interrupts and with that, the tense silence is broken and Liam joins the group, cuffing Niall over the head and sitting as far away as possible from Harry.

Not on purpose of course. It isn’t his fault that the only chair left is in between Maz and Ed. Really, he doesn’t deserve the look Louis gives him when he sits down because if Louis chooses to put Harry in the chair that is normally reserved for Liam – that is his fault. Not Liam’s at all.

The next time he sees Harry, he literally bumps into him coming out of Aiden and Matt’s house. Liam had been in a rush, he’d told Aiden he’d pick him up to go and see this strange foreign film Aiden was excited about (predictable art major) and of course Liam got caught in traffic. He knew Aiden would probably be miffed - he was particular about punctuality, always had been since they’d traded shifts back at the little record store Liam had worked in when he’d first moved to London). Harry says something apologetic while rubbing at a red mark where their foreheads collided and Liam dithers about for a moment before remembering his manners and that’s only because Louis kicks him in the shin.

It hurts a bit, but before he can get any sort of retort back at Louis, his friend and Harry are gone and in that ugly big car of the curly one’s because Lou has to pick up “more paint samples.”

Liam shakes off the tiny bit of jealousy that it’s Harry doing these things with Lou and not him because he’s not _that_ type of person. And it’s perfectly fine if Louis has friends outside their social circle. Perfectly. Fine.

It really is, and when he gets home later that night and utterly exhausted from the most boring black and white “art” film ever, Liam mostly puts Harry out of his head.

Mostly – but not at all – because Louis does done _nothing_ but talk about him twenty-four seven for over a week. Louis is currently bunking at his and Niall’s flat so it really _is_ like it’s all day bloody long (Louis sleepwalks and sleep converses about stupid things Harry has got up to at work too, which is just _fantastic_ for Liam). But that’s mostly okay too, because it’s only for another week and then Louis will be back in his new flat because his boyfriend is coming home from some tour _thing_ (is it a tour if you’re just DJ’ing in one club?) in Ibiza. It’s just about the same time Matt will have finished repainting the place, too. Which for Liam, also means that Aiden will stop being such an out of sorts cunt (which Liam would _never_ say out loud, his mother brought him up better than that. Plus, it’s crass – but it _is_ how Aiden is behaving) at not having his boyfriend at his beck and call for the past three weeks while he painted and _re_ painted every bloody room because Louis is shit at decision making.

Then it’s Friday night again and he near falls into the flat when he’s bending down to pull this stone out of his shoe and had been using the sturdy timber frame to lean on to do so. He _nearly_ falls, because he mostly just trips inside and lands on Louis. A cheery faced, very _loud_ \- well, louder than normal – drunk Louis who shouts Liam’s name so fiercely he’s sure he’s gone a little deaf by Louis doing so. He’s tugging Liam down the hall and into the small kitchenette that feels even smaller because of _all_ the people in it. Matt and Aiden are on one side of the little table that has a bench seat running around the bay window it’s sat in. Matt’s arm is wrapped around Aiden’s waist, his hand disappearing under whatever cream and garish orange cardigan Aiden’s wearing tonight while Matt leans to the side, in heavy conversation about lord knows what with Ed. Ed is nursing a can of lager and nodding seriously so whatever it’s about – Liam probably doesn’t want to understand. He’d once witnessed the two wax near philosophic about the merits of American’s and their cold beer over a luke warm lager. Niall’s to Ed’s left, hands flying everywhere as if in effort to catch up with the mile a minute his mouth is going at, laughter and “right? Right!” interspersed with whatever he’s describing to an amused looking Josh. And for the millionth time, Liam wonders if Niall will ever shut up long enough to let Josh profess his undying lust for the blonde haired Irishman.

Probably not.

Then there’s Maz who’s smiling and looking kind of enchanted – if you can even be that – by whoever it is in the dark gray beanie.

“Everyone, Liam is here!” Louis shouts, raising their joined hands in the air and fist pumping his free hand wildly, obviously he’d been into the liquor cabinet quite a while ago.

Everyone turns and echoes Liam’s name or some sort of lovingly inebriated welcome including - _well fuck_.

Harry.

So much for thinking he’d never have to see Harry again. Well, not for a while at least.

He does manage a hello to the group before Louis is dragging him further into the kitchen and pouring an _obscene_ amount of alcohol into an even more absurd old jam jar and sloshing it over the side as he near shoves it into Liam’s hand. “Sorry, love, we ran out of cups. How do you and Niall even _live_ like this? Really, Li, when Zayner gets home,” he pauses for just the tiniest of moments but Liam can see that extra twinkle in his eye and the _onetwothree_ tap that Louis does with his heels whenever he’s excited about Zayn, “we’re buying you proper glasses.”

Liam nods and doesn’t argue because well - he’s been meaning to buy proper glassware and such but it felt a little like something a couple would do and as much as he loves Niall, even having snogged him once when they were both figuring out they liked boys back in sixth form - he doesn’t _like_ Niall like that. He sips at Louis’ concoction having learned in the past _not_ to chug it back because - Louis likes spirits and isn’t keen on mixers. The chatter in the room has returned to normal in the few seconds after they said their hello’s and Liam figures they won’t notice him leaving to at least put his bag away and maybe change.

His bedroom is far enough down the hall that the warm noise coming from the kitchen is muted but still spiked with Louis’ infectious laugh that is somehow louder than anything else. He’s just pulling his thick wool jumper over his head when he hears, “oh, fuck, fuck. Sorry mate!”

Liam is actually the phrase - dying on the inside.

He kind of stops and is thankful that the black knit is so thick and his face that is turning quite the shade of red isn’t on display. It’s only after he hears his door close and he gets the thing off his head that he realises that his shirt sort of came off with the jumper. Add that to the fact he’s already unzipped his fly and his trousers had fallen open and mostly off his hips, well, he was sort of flashing Harry a lot more skin than might be appropriate - considering they aren’t really mates. Aren’t really anything and there’s this strange twist to Liam’s stomach because of that.

Which he ignores because, he has enough friends. Really. He’s happy. Totally fine.

He goes back out eventually and it’s to a much quieter kitchen. Niall, Josh, Louis and Harry have apparently gone out and Aiden and Matt are taking up the one armchair in the living room that _doesn’t_ have a spring unstuck in an uncomfortable place so Liam sits on the sofa with Maz who’s adding some shit to his little Guitar Hero avatar. Liam doesn’t feel jealous that the others went without asking if he’d like to join. Louis knows Liam hates clubbing and Niall is always up for a pint and a dance, but it would have been nice to be asked. Which is what he says an hour and a few too many vodka and oranges later to no one in particular.

“They did, Harry said you weren’t interested,” Aiden says, tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration as Guitar Hero had turned into bloody Fifa again once Matt realised what was going on and he and Aiden managed to tear their lips apart.

“He did not!” Liam spits in return, a little affronted at the blatant lie and wow, he didn’t pick Harry for an asshole like that.

“Did so, came back in a rush to leave, near pushing Lou out the door, face all red,” Matt adds, shoving at Aiden’s side and making Aiden curse when the little men onscreen lose the ball. “Just figured you were your unusual to us, but usual to Harry, bit of a prick,”

Liam actually turns to face Matt this time because - “I’m a bit of a prick?”

Maz laughs from where he’s stretched out on the floor, leaning his back on the sofa beside Liam’s legs. “Fuck mate, you’re barely in the room with him the last two times he’s been around. Even Niall’s noticed you’ve got issues with Haz, and we all know how blind Niall can be!”

Liam pouts and shoves at Maz with his knee. “I don’t have a problem with him.”

The three others make similar scoffing noises - including Maz’s snort.

“I don’t! I just. . . I don’t need any more friends alright?” Liam adds as if he needs to explain himself, which by the sounds of things he does.

Matt pauses the game and all three of them turn to look at Liam.

He can feel the heat of their judging stares warm his skin it's probably obvious even in the low light from the ugly shell based lamp that Niall’s great Aunt Wilfey gave to him as a bloody housewarming gift. Liam hates it but Niall says it gives the place some ‘hipster chic’ or some bloody thing and Liam got to keep his Batman biscuit barrel so - they were even on the slightly ugly accessories to their home.

“What? I do! I have you lot and I have the lads at work and I have Nialler - what more do I need?”

They’re still all staring at him and this twist low in Liam’s gut that feels a little bit like he’s lying. To himself or them he doesn’t want to nitpick and he doesn’t want to really think on it either. Instead, he throws the controller down and storms off to his room with a quick “Fuck you all,” thrown over his shoulder before he slams the door closed.

Then opens it, calls out an apology – because really, storming off and slamming his door? Could he act anymore like a fourteen year old girl?

Even if this is _his_ house and he should be able to do whatever he wants.

Even if that includes randomly hating Harry for no real reason at all.

Even if he doesn’t _really_ hate Harry. He doesn’t like or dislike him.

Yet he can’t help but think maybe he could, as he throws himself on his bed, face down into his pillows and screams a little bit into the mattress because this was exactly why he didn’t need any more friends and it sucks that he might actually think Harry is worthy of more than that.

Liam sort of avoids everyone for the next two weeks. Which doesn’t sound too hard, but is considering how much time he actually _does_ spend with the people he’s close with. He begs out of drinks at Ed’s place (they all kind of take on Friday night get togethers at one house or another in a rota that for some reason means Louis and Zayn hardly ever host - they’re terrible cooks and somehow even manage to cockup nibblies). He blames it on the magazine interview Simon had running late (it is kind of true - though it ended at seven and not at eight like he may have mentioned, perks of being a small indie record producer’s PA). Then there’s brunch on Sunday which Aiden and Matt have held ever since they moved into their new house five years back – he isn’t exactly coming down with a cold but it’s not like they can tell how horrid his throat is and how much of a barking cough he has through a quick Facebook message.

Niall has been conspicuously absent since the Friday night drinks at Ed’s and Liam hasn’t heard from Josh which is unusual. Josh’s been known to whine in text to Liam after any night out that involves flirty drunk Niall and how handsy he gets while totally oblivious to Josh’s feelings. Which really means no one is at home to notice how Liam is lacking any sign of “man flu” because Zayn’s come back and Louis has returned to his freshly redecorated flat and knowing those two, they’re probably shagging like mad and haven’t actually remembered to plug in their phones, let alone turn them on.

He skips two Wednesday dinners in a row because of “work” which is hurtful to himself but he figures - it’s sort of easier to plan events around the possibility of Harry showing. Another Friday night drinks, this time at Maz’s place which he doesn’t really want to go to anyway because he knows his ex will be there and even though it’s been a year and a half, it ended badly with Tom, it’s still a excuse Maz will except without digging much into further reasons.

He blames a few missed calls and more missed texts on updating his iPhone that eventually Louis catches onto.

“Liam James Payne you own a Blackberry!” he says, pushing past where Liam had sleepily opened the door at eight in the morning on a bloody _Saturday_ of all things.

“I do?” he finds himself saying sleepily through a yawn as he trudges back down the hall after Louis, his Buzz Lightyear slippers scuffing on the wooden floor as he goes.

“Yes, you shit! I know I tend to get a little caught up when Zayn comes home,” Liam snorts at that and it earns him a pointed stare from Louis so he holds his hands up in surrender, sitting down at the table instead as he watches Louis flit around the kitchen, making them both some tea.

“Like I was saying,” Louis starts again, his tone just a little cutting, “You don’t own an iPhone, Mister Payne and don’t think we - as in your _friends_ – haven’t noticed you avoiding the lot of us.” He says while measuring out the loose leaf tea that Liam prefers into the incredibly strange Union Jack covered Pig Teapot that Louis had bought for Liam’s birthday, a year after they’d met in the very first class either of them had had in their Freshers week. It’s kind of ugly but Liam loves it because Louis gave it to him, and he loves Louis. Weird present giving and all.

“I’m not-” and Louis glares at him from under his caramel coloured fringe, all wispy like he didn’t even bother styling today - just woke up, threw some clothes on and decided to come and have it out with Liam.

Which he probably did.

“I’ve been busy.” He ends with, hoping that it will suffice but knowing it won’t.

Louis says nothing, just leans back against the kitchen counter beside the cooktop where the kettle is set on a bright blue flame. His arms are crossed and as Liam bites at his lip and fingers a loose thread on his sleep pants, Liam says nothing either.

The sound of the whistle announcing the water is hot makes Liam jump and he tries to think of any type of acceptable answer to Louis question as Louis finishes up with the pot and brings the sugar and tea cups over (neither of them like milk).

They sit there, sipping at their tea and blowing over the tops of their cups, waiting for it too cool and for a while and it almost feels like old times. Almost. Then Liam puts his cup down for a moment, about to start on an anecdote from work involving his boss and the new intern but Louis gets in first.

“Is this to do with Harry?”

Liam shakes his head, scoffs and looks at his cup - anywhere but at Louis. “No, no not at all. He seems nice,”

Louis is quiet and Liam can’t help but continue on because of it, “I mean, he’s nice, really. Everyone likes him, and you sort of found him I guess so he must be nice.”

“Right,” Louis says and Liam still can’t look at him because Liam truly is a shit liar and Louis knows that. “Nice.” Louis sighs and then starts in gossiping about Niall and Josh and how Liam would _know_ that’s where Niall has been for nearly three weeks now because Josh made a grand gesture (got up on the table at the pub during trivia night and shouted his love) and they haven’t been seen since. They natter on for a few hours and Liam remembers why he loves the friends he has – they just make everything better, even when it’s just a chat. If he gets a little melancholy when Louis gets up to leave, that’s entirely Liam’s own fault and mostly because he’s realised the old saying is true – you never miss something until it’s gone and well - he really has missed his friends..

Which is what he finds himself saying to Louis at the door just as Louis is leaving, “Glad you popped by, Lou. I didn’t realise how quiet it was without Nialler around.”

Louis smiles and punches Liam in the shoulder, more friendly than hurtful even if Liam does pretend to stagger back a bit, “You could just, oh, I don’t know, come out again and show your face with us you tosser!”

Liam grins and shrugs, because maybe he’s being stupid and maybe he should just go out with his mates and stop worrying about having to like Harry or whatever. Harry’s not taking his place and Harry is – according to everyone else – a decent lad so he really should just stop being weird about it. “Okay,” he says because he doesn’t want to make promises he can’t keep and he doesn’t want to let Louis go without giving him some sort of reassurance.

Louis rolls his eyes but leaves after wrapping Liam in a hug that Liam can feel in his bones and Liam shuts the door with a happy sigh, thinking that’s the end of that.

But of course it’s not.

When he wakes up the next morning it’s to the smell of bacon and something sweet like waffles or pancakes or something cooking in the kitchen and his stomach growls at the scent alone. Liam’s hunger gets him out of bed quick, slippers on and the Batman robe Nialler got him for Christmas wrapped around him as he wanders down the hall because he forgot to eat dinner the night before. He’d been up rewatching series five of Friends and going over some papers Simon had given him on Friday and had just. . . forgot to eat. He’d done that a few times lately, what with Niall not being around and living his life by some strange sort of “food o’clock” Liam’s own eating habits were thrown out of whack. This food smells delicious and a little like the take away Niall would sometimes bring back from the caf if he wasn’t working an early shift and has his feet moving before he even realises what he is doing.

Liam is moaning in delight, rubbing at his empty stomach as he turns the corner into the kitchenette but that noise sort of turns into a squeak of surprise by who he finds at the burner.

“Harry?”

The next sound is a clatter of a large ceramic bowl (the only one Niall and Liam own. . . owned) smashing on the tiled floor and an unmanly sort of squealy-shriek from who was holding it.

“That was our only bowl,” Liam says, still stunned at the fact Harry is here in his house wearing what looks like his sleepwear - a pair of black shorts and a very, very thin white shirt with some sort of band name utterly faded on the front. And the neck is all stretched and hangs far too low to be decent.

It’s the shirts fault and nothing else that Liam can’t stop staring at Harry’s collarbones and how sharp and deep they look and why Liam is wondering if you could actually _drink_ out of them they’re that pronounced.

“Sorry,” Harry says, but it’s more like a question and Liam blinks a bit because, well, “What are you doing cooking in my kitchen?”

Harry blushes and it makes Liam’s gut twist - which he tells himself is just hunger, “I was making you breakfast? I don’t think the eggs are salvageable though,” he smiles and it shouldn’t be endearing, all dimples and green flashy eyes, but Liam has always been a sucker for a good smile and Harry, sadly, does have a good one.

“But why are you here doing that?” Liam asks again, still standing in the limited space between the kitchen and the bay window table.

“Niall said, erm, have you talked to Niall lately?” and Liam squints his eyes a little with a frown that is starting because this suddenly feels like he’s headed into an ambush. “Or Louis? Louis said-” and Liam cuts him off because Harry’s going redder in the cheeks and he’s sort of flailing, rubbing one hand on his thigh over and over again and Liam absolutely does _not_ notice how lovely Harry’s thighs are.

“What did Louis say?”

Harry blinks hard a few times and Liam wonders if it’s a nervous tick, “Louis, well, Niall and Louis said it would be fine, you know. That I could stay? Just for the next month,” and Liam’s eyebrows really do reach for his hairline, “Or not that long, really. It’s just while I get settled, new town and all and my old flatmate was a total minger and erm, you seem nice?”

“Nice,” Liam says once Harry has stopped tripping over his words and Liam can feel this uncomfortable feeling prickling up his spine because that’s the same word he used with Louis yesterday.

“You, you don’t mind do you? I mean, I’m sort of good at being tidy and I can cook and I really won’t take up too much room.” Harry is blinking like mad now, dark lashes still not able to block how he’s looking at Liam - all nervous and innocent even and ugh. Just. ugh. He doesn’t even have the words, even in his inner monologue.

“It’s fine, I guess,” Liam sighs, sometimes it’s just easier to give in, even if he’s not entirely sure on what he’s giving in to. “When exactly did Niall say this?” Liam asks because - Harry is here and in what can only be his sleepwear – either that or he enjoys cooking in his pants which could be weird.

Harry sort of bites at his lip and fixes his curls, flicking them about all over the place before answering, “Last night – early this morning? He and Lou sort of drove me over and dumped me on the sofa. I’d had some of Louis' cocktails and Zayn made me a few Jaeger bombs or summat like that. They thought it was a good idea?”

Harry looks so. . . sweet and impossibly earnest that Liam feels all his annoyance slide into something near opposite as he says, “Fine, I suppose that’s fine then.”

The smile that lights Harry’s face makes Liam smile too and it fades away all the out of sorts emotions he was going through since discovering Harry in his kitchen.

“Great, that’s, that’s just great. Thanks, Li,”

“Liam,” he says straight back, because Li is what his friends call him and Harry isn’t one of those. He’s just staying here because Niall said he could and Louis apparently thought it was a good idea and Liam doesn’t like to turn away people who need help.

Even blushing and stammering pretty boys with curly hair who can cook but not hold onto a bowl to save their life. 

“Right, Liam. Thank you,” Harry says, his head down so Liam can’t see anything but the dark curls that fall forward, covering his face because Liam may have snapped a little but it _is_ his name after all.

Liam sighs again, louder, because this is awkward and he feels sort of lost in his own house, “Come on, let me show you where the dustpan is and we’ll get this cleaned up,”

Harry nods and Liam moves around to the cupboard under the sink that holds all their cleaning gear and Harry apologises again.

“It’s fine. What were you trying to make anyway?” Liam asks as he hands Harry a stack of paper towel to wipe up the yellow mess on the floor. He most certainly does _not_ check out the round of Harry’s bum when he bends over to start clearing the bits that don’t have pieces of white and blue bowl stuck in them. He most certainly doesn’t feel anything about it, or how lovely the line of Harry’s spine is as he does so, these knobbly bony bits poking up through Harry’s thin shirt. He doesn’t look or think about how they would feel under his tongue because he’s done the “thing” with pretty boys before and he’s learned his lesson.

“Eggs, I make really good scrambled eggs,”

“That’s alright then, I’m allergic,” and shit, why did he say that? He’s nothing of the sort but, it just slipped out and it was the only thing he could think of to say because Harry looked _sad_ about the bloody eggs.

“Well I guess that worked out okay, then.” Harry says softly, looking up at Liam, and there’s a sheen to his eyes that makes Liam think he’d actually upset the lad a little but this sort of makes it all better. If Liam sort of feels a lightness that might verge on being friendly for Harry because of it, there’s no one around to admit it to so he can just keep that to himself.

It’s not the last time Harry cooks for him, but it is the last time he cooks anything related to eggs and breaks any more of their dishware (mostly hasn’t - bar the good soup tureen Li’s mum thought he’d use, which, was a blessing in disguise really). With Niall pretty much moving himself into Josh’s flat, it’s mostly Harry Liam sees on a daily basis and if Liam is forced to admit it, it is rather nice having Harry at the house. He likes similar shows to Liam, laughs loudly and eagerly at the parts they both find funny. He _does_ clean up after himself (though Liam has peeked through the door into his room and it is literally like a bomb has blown all the clothing Harry could possibly own all over the floor, dresser and even the bed). When they go to social events that Liam’s friends (and Harry’s now, too) hold, they often go or come home together – saving fuel and sharing cabs and whatever, it’s better for the environment and their pockets.

It’s lovely. It is. Liam might even _like_ Harry a little.

Which is when it becomes a problem, really.

Liam isn’t exactly sure when it is his need to _not_ like Harry turns into this need to avoid accepting that he actually _likes_ him more than he should. It starts with how they always end up on the sofa together watching Xfactor. The banter between them on who is likeable and who is not comes easily after a while and it usually ends up with them sort of getting up and awkwardly saying night and heading off to their own rooms. Awkward, because they still don’t really talk much outside of when they’re together at parties and things. Awkward, because if Liam’s going to be late home on Xfactor night – then Harry will record it and wait for him to get home so they can watch together. Awkward, because Liam will often bring home dinner from the Chinese place that Harry likes (and Liam doesn’t – an issue with a bad batch of egg rolls he had once) and he never forgets to get Harry the extra hot sauce because Harry likes a bit of heat on his noodles. Awkward, because Harry will have a beer for himself and a milk for Liam (Chinese gives Liam heartburn) ready before Liam gets in. Awkward, because Xfactor nights feel like date nights and Liam isn’t sure about that.

So they sit and they pick on the horrid singers and they laugh at the judges and the way some of the contestants just _can not_ dance and squish together on the too small sofa because it’s getting to be winter and the flat is chilly. Harry brings out this strange looking patchwork quilt thing that has this long story of being handed through the family to the first born son or something (Harry just says that it’s old, but Liam answers the house phone once and ends up talking with Harry’s mother for near an hour before he realises what he’s doing). First, it’s just over Harry and then Liam sort of shivers involuntarily one night and then it’s over both their legs and well, if his feet rub up against Harry’s it’s only because they’re trying to conserve warmth and friction helps build that. They share the blanket, take turns making tea in the commercial breaks and if Liam starts eating digestives purely because Harry has a strange obsession with them, well that’s nothing here or there.

It’s sort of like having Niall at home – only the difference is he and Niall would never watch Xfactor – Niall hates reality TV shows – and Niall rarely played footsie with him under a blanket. Or let Liam have the last biscuit from the barrel. Or looked so good when he was sleepy. Harry always has an early shift at the little community radio station he works at the morning of the results show. He tries and tries to stay up long enough to find out who’s got the chop, but usually falls asleep on Liam’s shoulder. It’s innocent. Mostly.

Until it isn’t because Liam actually drags Harry’s head down to his lap and starts playing with Harry’s hair (he’s noticed Harry does the same thing when he gets tired himself). They’re not sharing a blanket tonight – Harry’s Gran sent down a knitted throw _just_ for Liam, which Liam doesn’t want to think into too much, but secretly adores the way it feels and smells like home and makes him feel a little special and loved. So he’s got a lap full of Harry and his curls and Harry is making these _noises_ when Liam accidentally scratches a bit harder over a certain spot. It shouldn’t make Liam get this . . . feeling in his chest. Shouldn’t make him want to always hear these soft sounds that sort of purr and mewl their way up from the depths of Harry’s chest because it sounds like Harry is enjoying himself.

There’s that but then there’s now when Liam sort of fell asleep on the sofa, too. He’s all snuggled down somehow in the night so that he’s sort of lying on top of Harry with one leg over Harry’s thigh, one arm wrapped over Harry’s chest, and his face pressed into Harry’s curls where he currently has a mouthful of them. The blankets must have fallen off sometime during the night, but Liam’s not altogether that cold. He sort of wakes up with a start - miraculously not knocking Harry or himself off the sofa and he just, lies there. Harry’s breathing is still deep and even and every time he breathes out his lower lip trembles, all pink and puffy and soft looking and it shifts the stray curl stuck to the side of Harry’s top lip and all Liam can think is “I wouldn’t mind waking up to this, more than just today.”

It freaks him out and makes him feel good because it’s been a _long_ time since Liam has wanted anything as intimate as this with anyone. His last boyfriend, Tom, had been someone that was pretty and someone that everyone loved and who Liam had thought he’d loved enough for the both of them. He hadn’t though, and when Tom had the offer to go and train with the best of the UK’s divers - he sort of trampled Liam’s heart in the process in his rush to the change rooms.

But that was more than a year ago, and even if Liam’s heart felt like it was ready for something, maybe, new - it didn’t mean his head was.

He’s still lying there though, all close and wrapped around Harry like he’s trying to be a human blanket and he might just be leaning into Harry’s hair and he just might be sort of sniffing it because Harry uses some fairly girly hair products.  
That’s all.

He ignores the tightness in his chest, ignores the way his face feels as he smiles small and sweetly and he ignores how _nice_ it feels just to be held and hold someone else. And he does like Harry. Liam is open and honest enough to admit when he’s wrong and he was wrong about not needing a friend – a Harry – in his life. He likes the way Harry will leave him little notes on random bits of paper (usually receipts and dockets from whatever is in his wallet) if there’s messages to be given or if he’s going to be late home or if he’s headed out somewhere and wants Liam to meet up. He likes hearing Harry sing in the shower - all loud and completely unashamed at whatever tone he’s chosen for that morning. Then there’s how he looks after Liam on days like today - slightly hungover and in need of something greasy and a good cuddle and well, recently it’s become like that for the both of them.

Mutual cuddling on the sofa with a good cup of tea and the paper for Liam and some indie rock magazine for Harry wasn’t anything more than what friends did, right?

It is completely . . . friendly.

Well, that’s what Liam is clinging to, the excuse of friendship – even good friendship – as he snuggles against Harry and closes his eyes, hoping to drift back off before Harry wakes and realises Liam is still hanging on to him like some sort of sleepy sloth. And it would have worked, probably, but Niall comes home.

Bloody Nialler.

“I know I’ve been gone a while mate, but when did this happen?”

And of course this is the moment Liam falls off the sofa, and sort of brings Harry with him.

Bloody _Nialler_.

They land in a tangle of body parts with Liam cursing and Harry mumbling a long, low, sleepy “ooowwww,” and Niall’s laughter ringing in the background. Liam’s face is heating up to the point where he feels like you could probably fry bacon on it while Harry is laughing in that loud obnoxious bark that he usually hides behind his hand from the moment he lets it slip. Harry stands first, somehow making it off the floor before Liam, and offering his hand to help Liam up. If he holds onto said hand a little longer than normal it’s only because he feels a little off balance, he’s pretty sure he hit his head when the ground came up to meet him.

“Aww, Nialler, you a bit jealous you aren’t the one receiving snuggles on the sofa anymore?” Harry says, wrapping his arms around Liam’s side and letting his head rest on Liam’s shoulder. Liam freezes with the movement, and chokes a little on air because _when_ did Harry start calling Niall that, and does it show on his face what Harry’s touch is doing to his insides?

Niall is still laughing. There may be actual tears in his eyes, but he’s sort of squinting so Liam can’t be sure. “Well jealous mate,” he says, crossing his arms and sort of tilting his head to the side and Liam _knows_ that look to be one where Niall is thinking hard about something. Shit.

“I know how good Li’s cuddles are. Before Zayn, when Louis was sort of shit at picking the right bloke, totally oblivious to Zayn right in front of him, wasn’t he?” he nods at Liam because Liam knows this story well and Liam eyes are widening because he can see what’s coming, “Louis used to spend _days_ curled up in Li’s hugs. Even gave him a nickname, what was it again? Super Snug- “

“Hey now, that’s enough of that. No more stories thank you,” Liam jumps in, because Harry does _not_ need to hear about that. It’s taken Liam three good years of Zayn and Louis’ relationship to finally put that thing to rest. He untucks himself from Harry’s side (and when exactly did that start to feel like a hardship?) and gives Niall a look that he hopes conveys the daggers he is throwing at him and thinks probably not, when Niall and Harry break into laughter again.

“There was a shirt-“ Niall whispers and Liam may just throw the cushion in his hand at Niall’s head – which the bastard catches.

“Alright have your secrets,” Harry smiles, heading toward the kitchen, “You up for some breakfast, Nialler?” 

Liam rolls his eyes because - as if that even needs to be a question when it comes to his mad Irish best friend.

“Sure, mate, whatever you’re having, I’ll be needing twice the regular amount of it. Maybe three times. Ooh, I’ve got a wicked craving for eggs, maybe a proper fry up?” Niall is already rubbing his hands over his stomach and Liam shakes his head, bending to pick up the sofa cushions from where they came to land on the floor.

“Can’t do my friend on the account of Liam being allergic and all but we do have a bit of batter left from the waffles I made yesterday,”

“Allergic to what? Cooking?” Niall laughs and Liam freezes, face close to the seat of the sofa where he was pushing in the last of the cushions. His stomach plummets because this is _Niall_ and Niall knows that Liam loves eggs best of all and honestly, it’s been so _hard_ not to eat them lately because Harry is always around. He tried to tell him it was just a joke, just a thing he said to make Harry feel better that day but every single time he’s opened his mouth, Harry’s doing something as awful as _smiling_ with those bloody _dimples_ and Liam. . . doesn’t say a word. And somehow, Liam has got it in his head that admitting this to Harry will be the end of their tentative friendship and, well, now Liam has Harry as a friend, he can’t imagine _not_ having Harry around.

He stands up quick, hoping to get Niall’s attention by waving madly but Niall has already turned around, following Harry like a bloodhound follows the scent of a fox – and in this case Harry would be the breakfast/fox that Niall is craving. Liam rushes to the kitchen after them, hoping Niall is doing that strange slow, swagger to his step that he’s done ever since he and Josh got together but of course, no. This is _food_ so Niall is _right_ there beside Harry as he utters the words that Liam has been trying for months to say and knows will probably change everything. Then again, maybe it won’t, maybe it’ll just be something they laugh about as Harry whips up what he’s often told Liam is the lightest, fluffiest cheese omelette he’d ever eat – if he could have omelettes.

“Liam’s not allergic to eggs you dolt! Who told gave you that malarkey?” he says, popping himself up on the counter beside the cooker where Harry is lighting the burner, skillet in hand.

“Yes he is,” Harry says but there’s this hesitation to his tone and Liam feels like he could vomit.

Niall is shaking his head, completely oblivious to where Liam is trying to get his attention without words, but Niall is letting his feet tap back and forth against the cupboard doors which Liam _hates_ because –

“Stop that, you’ll leave marks,” Harry and Liam say together and Niall cackles and Liam has hope this won’t end as badly as he thought.

“Oh you two, already a married couple,” Niall laughs and Liam feels that spark in his chest that feels like a memory of something from before but it’s gone in an instant as Niall continues, eyes focused on Harry.

“Liam is not allergic to eggs, Haz. If anything, he’s in love with the little things. Back at college when he was doing track – which I heard you took up running again, mate, that’s great!” Niall spares Liam a glance, and oh right - he’d started running again so he’d have an excuse not to eat fatty foods and things, things with eggs. Niall doesn’t notice how Liam is sort of standing there frozen by this conversation, just goes on and it gets even worse, “Anyway, he used to get up at the crack of dawn and down six of the bloody things, raw,” Niall screws up his nose in distaste, “something about the high protein being good for something or other, I dunno. I just thought it was a waste of a potentially good fry up to be honest.”

Liam wants to strangle him. He wants to take back all the nice things he’s been thinking about Niall lately because Harry is turning the burner off and putting the skillet down and turning and there is nowhere for Liam to _hide_ from Harry’s eyes.

He’s never seen them look so empty.

“Oh, I must of been thinking of someone else,” Harry says and he’s just _staring_ at Liam and Liam can’t – he can’t think of a thing to say.

“Harry-“ is all Liam gets out and it’s soft and broken and he didn’t even know he could make Harry’s name sound like an apology and yet begging for understanding at the same time.

“I’ve, I’ve actually got somewhere to be this morning so. . . I’m just. I’m just going to go,” Harry says, still blinking and staring at Liam before he shakes his head and heads out to the living room. Liam can hear him pick up his keys from the side table and then the front door open and closes. Then there’s the rev of Harry’s Rover, loud in the quiet of the kitchen and it only gets quieter the longer Liam tries to listen for the sound of the engine fading into the background.

“You know he left in his pants right. Nothing but his pants and they looked like your Superman ones at that.” Niall says softly, breaking the silence. Liam steps backward, falling onto the bench seat behind him, cradling his head in his hands as he moans.

“Why did you tell him you were allergic to eggs, Li?” Niall says as Liam hears him drop to the floor, shoes thumping lightly and then he’s bumping at Liam with his hand until Liam turns and slides around further on the seat. Liam just leans forward and rests his head on the table top for an instant, before hitting his forehead against the old formica a couple of times until Niall’s hand on his shoulder stops him still.

“I know you didn’t like Harry in the beginning, but ’s’not like you to lie to someone.”

Liam groans some more and hides from Niall for a bit longer, feeling even worse because Niall is right and every excuse that sounded plausible to Liam in the past sounds like utter shite to Liam now. “I didn’t. I –“ he starts and falters because it sound stupid even in his own head, let alone out loud.

Niall bumps Liam’s shoulder with his own, “Didn’t mean to? Liam.” Niall says his name in a way that is full of disappointment and Liam feels even worse.

“This is all your fault,” he mutters, knowing that it’s not but not wanting to really believe that he could have destroyed a friendship that was possibly heading toward more from _eggs_ of all things.

“How’s that?” Niall asks with humour curling in toward the end as he wraps his arm around Liam’s shoulder and tugs until Liam gives in and leans into Niall’s side.

“You and Louis, you told him he could stay here and he was just so _nice_ that it was impossible to not like him. You know the day you two dropped him over? I woke up to him making me breakfast. He was in these tight black pants and this shirt that was damn near see through and he looked good and I wanted to keep not liking him but, I sort of scared him and he dropped that blue bowl-“

“Me Mam’s blue bowl?”

“Yes, yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Should probably let her know and send her a card or something,” Liam frowns because – he hadn’t thought of that and now he feels _worse_. “Anyway, he looked sad you know, but not normal people sad but _Harry_ sad. You know last week when he bumped into Ed and made Cher spill her drink down her front? He just get’s that look, like his eyes get all wet like and his mouth sort of turns down and I swear his curls actually droop. It’s pathetic really, but he’s like a bloody puppy, Niall. I can’t hurt a puppy? Would I hurt a puppy?” Liam rambles and looks up at Niall because he really _does_ feel stupid about this.

Niall is just looking at him with one brow quirked up, “No, Liam. You would never hurt a puppy,” he says solemnly and Liam wants to _kick_ Niall now for taking the piss.

“I’m serious, Niall. He looked so bloody upset about the mess and the bowl and I just. I just sort of said it. And you know, he makes sure we have _no_ egg products in the house – do you realise how _long_ it’s been since I’ve had a bloody boiled egg or a cake that isn’t egg free – because he decided that you could never tell properly with bought ones and started making all this _stuff_ for us to eat at home. It’s like he still feels guilty about nearly poisoning me with a food I’m not even allergic to and oh god I’ve made a right twat of myself haven’t I?” He sighs, pulling out of Niall’s reach and starts banging his head against the table some more as Niall attempts and fails at suppressing his laughter.

“You’re a little bit of a twat. Is that why he went a bit mental at Aiden the other day for offering you the last piece of his sponge?” Liam nods and turns his head to the side, squinting up at Niall with one eye. There’s this smile at the corner of Niall’s lips that makes Liam hate his supposed best mate a little for finding this – “It’s not funny, Niall. I’ve gone and upset him _again_ and _again_ it’s over bloody eggs!”

“It’s a _little_ funny, Li. I mean – you told me time and time again that you didn’t like something about Harry then he moves in and you both act like you’re practically in a relationship with the way you answer each others thoughts. Then there’s how you both stay in to watch Xfactor when you think we don’t know that’s the reason why you turn down offers to go out those nights. You put your _peas_ on his plate Li and he puts his _broccoli_ on yours when we’re at dinner.”

Liam feels his face flush and he grumbles, “He doesn’t like broccoli, says it’s like eating little trees and I’ve never been a big fan of peas. They’re round and squishy.”

Niall _does_ laugh then and Liam maybe kicks at him with his foot. “I actually _like_ him, don’t I?” he says in a small voice, almost like saying it out loud is admitting it properly, that tiny spark in his chest burns a little brighter as he says the words and Liam feels his heart beat a lot faster.

“Yep, looks like it.” Niall says in return, batting his foot against Liam’s under the table.

Liam let’s out this breath that comes out more like a whine and he leans into Niall’s touch as his mate’s hand curls around Liam’s neck, rubbing over his skin comfortingly. “Is it a bad thing?” Niall asks and Liam wants to say yes and no at the same time. His stomach is all twisted and his face is hot and he just . . . .

“Maybe?”

“Why? Hazza’s great. Everyone likes him, he’s not got a bad bone in his body that one,” Niall offers and Liam agrees with a deep sigh because it’s right. All of it.

“But. What. . .” Liam leads off because there’s suddenly a lump in his throat and it’s the three months it took him to finally realise that Tom wasn’t going to change his mind and come back to Liam. It’s the three months after that, when he finally admitted to everyone that his heart was broken and didn’t have to make up reasons why Tom wasn’t coming on their yearly summer holiday to the cottage Louis’ grandmother left him in the south of France or why Tom was absent for a range of things and Liam would just stay in the flat they shared and hide from everyone. It was another six months before Liam had got himself in a good place, a happy with his life place and it was a day really after that that Harry came into his life.

“He’s not Tom, Liam.”

Liam sort of chokes on a sob that he didn’t realise was there with Niall’s statement because he knows this. He _knows_ that Harry is sort of the opposite of Tom. Tom with the movie star good looks and the ability to make friends with a smile and who Liam never quite felt like he was _enough_ for. He never quite believed that Tom could really want him, not when everyone they met of Tom’s friends would look Liam up and down and he could feel them judging him, feel the - “ _you,_ with _him?_ ” that their stares said. But Tom would hold him close and Tom took him to bed and made him see stars and feel special and he thought it was love.

Tom who promised Liam the world and then took it away with one offer to join the UK Aquatics team and the opportunity to fuck every fucking _synchronised swim star_ that he wanted. Tom, who after one week ended things with a “sorry babes, this just isn’t going to work out,” leaving Liam with a rent he had _no_ hope of paying and bills mounting up the more he hoped that Tom would change his mind and didn’t and nearly bankrupted Liam because he couldn’t face the truth.

Tom was gone and Liam was heartbroken and then Niall walked in one Tuesday afternoon with a few boxes and a few bags and he never left. He just put Liam back together and brought him back to the fold where the friendships Liam had built ever since moving to London for Uni straight after college glued all the hurt shut. 

“I really like him, Niall. And now I’ve gone and fucked it up. What type of relationship begins on a lie like that? Not even a shallow friendly one.” Liam sniffles and hates himself a little more because is he _really_ tearing up over this? 

“Aww mate, it’ll be fine. You’ll explain it all to Haz and you’ll laugh and kiss and discuss Cazza’s hemlines and how much she’s flirting with that tall dark handsome one that she likes so much,”

Liam sniffs a bit and wipes at his nose with the back of his hand as he sits up and blinks at Niall, “Thought you didn’t watch Xfactor?” 

Niall blushes and it’s this bright red that covers his face and neck in seconds, “Josh,” is all he says with a shrug and Liam laughs, bumping shoulders with Niall who wraps his arm around Liam in a sideways hug.

“God, we’re a right pair aren’t we?” Liam says after a moment, letting out a long breath.

He feels Niall smile rather than sees it - benefits of being best mates with someone since you were eleven. “Yeah mate, totally gone for these pretty boys with good hair and kind hearts.”

“And rubbish choice in television,”

“Utter rubbish.” Niall nods in agreement.

They sit there, warming in the soft winter light that’s starting to fill the window panes and breathe and Liam realises how _long_ it’s been since he had a moment like this with Niall. Niall’s his best friend and he can’t even remember the last time they had a proper conversation and it goes to show how shitty a friend Liam’s been lately - all hopelessly bound up in whatever was beginning with Harry.

“How is Josh, by the way?” Liam starts and Niall shrugs, letting his head fall low and Liam can just see that blush back on Niall’s cheeks again.

“That good, hey?” Liam prods with a grin and laughs a little with the echoing, “Fuck off,” that has no malice behind it from Niall as he shoves at Liam with his shoulder.

“Well at least one of us got something out of the last few months.” Liam says with a frown, the shitty feeling of what he did to Harry and what he might have lost rolling back in on him again after a few moments respite. Well maybe not respite because he still feels wretched but discussing other peoples happiness will often do that to him anyway. Jealousy is a curse and for a long time Liam thought he’d wronged a gypsy somewhere, and now, he sort of feels the same way as he did back then.

“What are you gonna do?” Niall asks as Liam unwinds himself from Niall and puts his elbows on the table, cupping his chin in his hands and stares outside hoping the little wrens that are sitting on the window sill hold some answers. They don’t but his Snow White moment was nice for a moment there.

“Talk to him, I guess? If he comes back,” Liam adds sadly because Harry left in a rush and like Niall said - 

“He left in his _pants_ , Li. I daresay he’ll be,” he pauses as they both hear the door out the front, “back now,” Niall says in a whisper.

Liam’s chest tightens and he feels like he might hyperventilate because he’s not good with confrontation - hates arguments, really. And this is - well this could be that, this could be the end of something that never really had a chance to begin.

“Hi,” Harry says when he walks into the kitchen, keys still swinging from the ring finger of his right hand. 

Liam gulps and he’s never been so glad in his life to have Niall sitting beside him - until Niall gets up after giving Liam’s thigh a squeeze and leaves with a nod to Harry after he clasps his hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“I’ll just be in my room, yeah? Doing things that aren’t going to be listening to you two sort this out,” he says before mouthing, “talk to him!” at Liam before disappearing from sight.

Right. Liam thinks, staring at Harry who is staring at the floor and when Harry looks up Liam stares at the same patch of floor quick because Harry’s eyes _do_ things to him. They’re just so telling of what Harry is thinking and Liam knows that after spending all this time together and bloody buggering fuck - that should have been a sign.

Harry clears his throat just as Liam opens his mouth to speak so he closes it again, waiting for Harry. Then Harry doesn’t say anything so Liam sort of swallows and then Harry opens his mouth and stops.

It’s a bit ridiculous is what Liam thinks but Harry says out loud.

Liam looks at Harry properly then and he can see the subtle slouch in his shoulders, the flat line of his lips and the heavy set of his brow. Harry’s curls are a mess and it looks as if he’s been either running his hand through them a _lot_ \- or he had the window open in the Rover as he drove. Either are possible because Harry loves having “fresh air” in the car and also loves playing with his hair when he’s tired or stressed. Today’s hair care probably coming from the later.

“I’m sorry,” Liam blurts out, and Harry looks up, green eyes piercing and Liam is kind of staggered under the look of hurt that he can see there. He doesn’t stop though, he sort of turns so he’s sitting sideways on the chair and can see Harry better.

“I know it was wrong of me to lie, to make you think I was something when I wasn’t and I’m a total idiot, I completely get that but, have you seen your face?” Liam sputters - because he tends to waffle when he’s nervous and if the twitch in his left foot and the way he can _not_ stop licking at his lips between words is anything to go by, he’s _really_ gone this time.

“My face?” Harry says, a little line forming between his brows and, _wow_ Liam is really fucking this up.

“Yes, your,” he waves his hand about in the general direction of Harry’s everything, “You do this thing with it, okay?”

Harry stares some more, biting at the inside of his cheek from how Liam can see it cave in a little, dimple hidden and Liam goes on.

“Because really, you have this, sad look? Like, your eyes get all mopey and you bite at your cheek like you’re doing now and then yeah, you swap that for the corner of your lip like you’re doing now and oh my god am I making you do this? I’m making you sad right now?”

Liam stands up and he sort of hovers in one spot because _awkward_ doesn’t even begin to cover how this is going and Liam had some sort of medium to high hopes and now it’s pretty much set at total failure. 

“Why didn’t you tell me later?” Harry asks, voice all slow and soft and that throaty deepness that means he probably hasn’t spoken in a while - which makes sense since they’d just woken up before and apart from the handful of words they’d traded with Niall before Harry left - he hadn’t talked that much. But this voice, this tone that Harry gets just _hits_ Liam in the stomach even more and reminds him that he needs this apology to work and pretty much offending Harry’s face might not be the best way to go about that.

“I - I don’t know. I tried, I tried a few times but you were just so nice with the cake baking and checking the ingredients on packets when we shopped and you bloody, you made me like you, Harry. You took every reason that I shouldn’t, that I couldn’t and you made me like you and what’s worse is you made me want to make you never look sad any more,” Liam rushes this all out in one breath and he’s sort of puffed at the end of it and it feels like every part of his body is tingling because he’s being so honest.

And Harry isn’t saying a word.

“I just like you, and I thought that me telling you that I lied would make you not like me and it’s been a really long while since I liked anyone, so. . .” Liam finishes and he’s dropped his head now, looking at his hands that he’s wringing together and he feels absolutely empty now. Like there are no more words for him to say to make this better, because he’s given Harry all of them. All except, “and I’m truly sorry. Sorry about the lie and sorry that I’m going to miss out liking you even more because of it. I’m sorry.”

Liam shuts his eyes when the silence between them drags on. He can hear the fridge humming in that loud way it does and he can hear Niall has put on that bloody Justin Bieber cd that he was obsessed with back when he still sort of lived here and he can even hear the wrens at the window but Harry? Harry says nothing.

“Look, I know you probably don’t want to live here anymore and you probably don’t really want to see me again and I was planning on visiting my mum for a bit over Christmas so I could just take early an holiday and I’ll find somewhere new to live after. I can stay with Simon for a bit so you know, I won’t be around for a while and maybe January we can pretend this never happened and-”

Harry sort of snorts and it stops Liam from his meanderings about how he and Harry can coexist in their social circle without actually seeing each other much. “You want to move out,”

“Yes,” Liam says with a shrug, because it seems like the right thing to do. Harry’s stuff is here and Liam can’t really turf Harry out with nowhere to go and Simon always said he could use the spare room at his. He probably meant as somewhere to kip when they had a late night meeting or somthing but, still, he did _say_ Liam could stay on the bed once.

“You’re offering to move out because you like me and you lied about having an egg allergy to stop me being sad about some broken eggs?” He asks again and Liam can’t place exactly what Harry’s tone relays so he sort of nods and shrugs and pretty much jerks his body around. God ,he feels like shit. _This here is a new low Liam Payne. Look at your life. Look at your choices and for Christs_ sake _start making some new ones._

“I just-” but his next words are cut off because amidst all his weird twitching Harry has stepped close, his hands stilling Liam’s and Liam gets this sort of shock from their skin touching. Harry’s hands are warm and feel warmer still as he raises one to Liam’s chin, tilting it up and there’s this whole _new_ look on Harry’s face. It’s this mix of the sad one - eyes glassy, lips trembling but there’s dimples too and a smile, this shy smile that makes Liam’s stomach drop to his knees and that warmth in his chest spreads out to encompass a lot more surface than before.

"Your an absolute muppet you know that?" Harry asks and Liam nods but it's slow because Harry's thumb is brushing over Liam's bottom lip and he's smiling while he's doing it.

"I like you, too, you know. Have done ever since I saw you at my works Christmas do last year when you came with Louis because Zayn had to do a gig. It's kind of why he brought me along to that party that night we met proper, got it out of me that I was _still_ crushing on you," Harry says with a sort of soft laugh and Liam tries to take in what Harry is saying but fails.

"I _like_ you," Harry says soft but assuredly and Liam can't look up, can't see if Harry means it because it will _kill_ him when Harry says the _but_ that Liam knows is coming. Has to be coming because Liam lied. A lot. About ruddy eggs.

He'll never eat them again after this. Ever.

"But I fucked it up. I get that. I'm sorry." Liam says, still staring at where Harry is holding his hand and then up enough to see Harry's chin because Harry’s moved even closer, bringing their hands to Liam's hip.

“You’re sorry and you want to move out of your own place because I’m sad. How are you even real Liam Payne?” Harry asks with a laugh and Liam can’t answer because Harry’s lips are on his.

Harry is _kissing_ him and Liam just sort of goes slack and stiff at the same time because - “What are you doing?” he manages around Harry’s soft presses and it’s almost as if Harry is flirting with his lips alone.

“I’m kissing you,” Harry mumbles over the bow of Liam’s top lip, “Well, trying to but I seem to be the only one doing any work here,”

Liam is still confused and can’t even concentrate because Harry’s dropped Liam’s hand and is now sliding it down and around to the small of Liam’s back and pulling him in. 

“But why?” he asks when Harry’s mouth has moved on, trailing along the underside of his jaw which just makes Liam lean his neck back a little. It’s only polite to give the person currently molesting your skin with lovebites more room, isn’t it?

Harry sighs and brings both hands up to cup Liam’s face, forcing Liam to look into deep green eyes that are near twinkling and Liam is pretty sure that the star effect is because of the vase of water on the table and the sun shining through it. Either that or his Disney metaphor earlier is morphing into every situation in his life.

Maybe he really _did_ hit his head when he fell of the sofa earlier?

“You want to move out just because you lied to me, move out of your _own flat_. You made up a lie about eggs just because I _looked_ sad and you like me even though you tried not to. Your a twat Liam Payne. An utterly adorable in every sense of the word twat and I kind of like you a whole lot because you do things like that. Nobody does things like that.”

“It just seemed right is all,” Liam shrugs and it actually hits him, all of what Harry is saying. “And you said you liked me too?” he asks a little hesitantly because he’s sure Harry did but, there’s only so much his heart can take this morning so he’ll need that answer.

“ _Yes_ ” Harry says, squeezing his thumbs in tight on Liam’s cheeks, before leaning in but he doesn’t have to lean too much because Liam is already there, kissing Harry like he’s thought about a dozen or more times in the last month. Or maybe even before.

They kiss and they kiss and it’s, well, it’s definitely more than nice and it’s a little hard to do what with them both smiling like idiots but, they get the job done.

Eventually Harry pulls away, sliding his hand down Liam’s shoulder and arm from where he had it firmly entrenched in Liam’s hair and joins their fingers together. He smiles at Liam and Liam smiles back, holding on tight because he feels a little dizzy and Harry was just _kissing_ him.

Harry licks his lips and lets out this long breath before jangling his keys out of his pocket and waving them in front of Liam.

“Now how about we go get some eggs and I cook you that omelette?”

**-fin-**


End file.
